


i've shattered now, i'm spilling out (upon this linoleum ground)

by honeymead



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, amity is having a bad time, but she makes cute cat noises so its ok, karen is just a bitch, nothing wild i guess, this is my first fic literally ever be kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymead/pseuds/honeymead
Summary: “Amity,” Luz breathed, and she shattered. “Amity,” she repeated, in all of the ways her mother hadn’t and never would. It’s all gentleness and affection and love, and she couldn’t physically take it anymore.
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Comments: 68
Kudos: 792





	i've shattered now, i'm spilling out (upon this linoleum ground)

**Author's Note:**

> toh: witches are incredibly powerful beings and they can and will kick your ass  
> me: hehe amity go prr
> 
> anyways this is super self indulgent LMAO. jumping on the "amity makes cat noises and shit for some reason" bandwagon and also fuck karen blight, all my homies hate karen blight. (however the potential for hurt comfort is RICH) this is also my first fic literally ever so uhhh i have no idea how ao3 works! just pretend it looks like i know what i'm doing :')

Amity was a Blight. _I am a Blight_ , she repeated to herself several times a day- whether as justification for an action, explanation for an event, or just a general reassurance that yes, she indeed did have an explicit purpose in this world and it was to be a dutiful daughter and a key piece of a perfect, matching set. _I am a Blight,_ she chanted to herself late at night, struggling with every fiber of her being to keep her eyes open as she reviewed spells and notes for hours on end. _I am a Blight,_ she whispered, falling in with only the highest status of acquaintances, establishing herself at the very top of the social hierarchy--as it should be. _I am a Blight_ , she recited loyally when she rose to fill the vacancy her rebellious siblings left her as the favorite child, the most praised child, the most valuable. _I am a Blight,_ she breathed. It was in mother’s voice, more often than not, and if she nurtured the mantra enough sometimes it almost sounded like _I am acknowledged_ or _I am successful_ or _I am, you are, enough_. Of course, she would never admit that. 

_I am a Blight,_ she said to herself, not for the first time that day, as she stood in front of the mirror. She held a familiar bottle in her left hand and stared at it, as if it would immediately resolve itself if she glared it into nonexistence. _I am a Blight_ . Her stomach disagreed with her as it twisted into knots. _Rat bastard,_ she thought bitterly, and then flinched away from the door as if someone would hear her-- cursing was unbefitting of a Blight, naturally. 

She turned away from the bottle her mother had not so subtly left on her nightstand for her to notice after school. _Your imperfections are showing, Amity,_ it said; for that was how the household worked, in suggestions and requests thinly veiled to conceal the demand, the threat, they carried. It likely qualified as another language, honestly. She should write a book on How To Speak the Dialect of Powerful, Rich People: An Insider’s Look at Trauma, Bloodlines, and Fancy Little Hors D'oeuvres, she mused. 

_Rat bastard hors d'oeuvres,_ she growled, and set the hair dye down resolutely. _Might as well get it over with._

Carefully drawing the spell to remove the old hue that was beginning to fade out, she avoided looking at herself in the mirror. Despite the fact that it was a relatively easy procedure--one they learned as young children in hearts and crafts classes--it always gave her trouble, and it was possibly her least favorite part of the whole ordeal, as she knew if she looked up, the person in the mirror would be the polar opposite of the caricature she’d worked so hard to whittle and needle herself into for years. Of course, she stole a glance. 

Amity Not-a-Blight stole a glance back at her. 

She had never disliked her natural color; it was a soft honey-brown that reminded her of-- anyways. It had always seemed to round out her features, make the gold of her eyes lean closer to the warmth of slanted evening sunlight than the harsh metallic glint that reminded all who looked at her of who she was, _power, money, status_ ; it saturated her skin tone, even mellowed out the stiff mannerisms that had been forced into her subconscious. She had inherited it from her father, although truthfully she thought he wore it better- it seemed less contradictory on his face than on the one she had gotten from her mother. _It reminds me of…_ she started again, this time trailing off instead of forcibly interrupting. A gentle swell grew next to the space where her bile sac faithfully rested as she recalled brilliant smiles, simple light spells, kind words. She narrowed her eyes (even that expression looked softer, somehow), and left the room. The hair dye glared at her back accusingly.

* * *

She was right on time, just as she always was. The Blight household operated like clockwork, that is, if clocks never had to be readjusted or rewound or repaired; if clocks were perfect. Clockwork. She steeled herself before entering the dining hall. 

Dinner in her family was sacred. It was the singular event that they did together, and she had a feeling it was the one thread that kept her mother hanging desperately on to the conviction that they were indeed a family in some sense of the word instead of solely a political and social business operation. After all, in order to be an immaculate family, they needed the “family” bit. Everyone, including the twins, difficult as they were to corral, attended punctually without fail. Well, with the exception of one night when Ed and Em had decided to push their luck and eat at a friend’s-- their mother had been livid, pulled her strings, and the twins had thereafter never missed a meal. 

She walked into the room with her back straight and her hands properly folded in front of her, just as she always did. Her siblings’ eyes widened at the dramatic change in appearance and Ed opened his mouth to say something, but they both quickly schooled their expressions as their mother walked in. She, for her part, kept her visage neutral. Cool, proper, polite neutral, the same countenance Amity was likely reflecting back at her much more poorly. The family sat. They ate in silence, as they always did. Amity couldn’t help but steal looks at her mother once in a while, but she fiercely avoided her father's gaze. 

The tension was unbearable-- she was sure that everyone in the room desperately wished someone would react, at least give some sort of opening to let out their breath. Of course, Mrs. Blight wouldn’t allow that to happen without her permission, which she had very clearly refused. Edric shifted in his seat and gave Amity a worried glance that she quickly deflected. 

Exactly forty-five minutes after, the table was cleared, and she made to stand up and leave with her siblings, just as they always did, trained, clockwork.

“Amity.”

She froze. Ed and Em faltered in their step, but their names were not added to the demand, so they had no choice but to continue. _Be safe, be smart, we’ll be listening,_ they spoke to her wordlessly, as they had so many times before. The Blight siblings were not conventionally close but they were bound together as a mutual survival tactic in this household. Amity knew they were supporting her in silence, even if there wasn’t anything they could do about it outright. She took a deep breath, accidentally catching her father’s eyes as he followed her siblings. His expression was strange, but ultimately unreadable, and she pushed it aside.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Sit, dear.” Her voice was smooth, professional, as if she were speaking to a coworker. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve noticed your roots have been growing out a bit, dear.” Back at it again with the stupid, infuriating skirting of the subject, naturally. It would’ve struck her as comical if she hadn’t been so terrified- her roots were _gone_ , her entire head was brown right now, but of course her mother would comment passively, mildly, though her tone was anything but.

“Yes, ma’am.” She paused, struggling to say more. Her mother had not asked her a question, had not told her to elaborate, so she shouldn’t. Her hands clenched at her sides and she took a deep breath with visible effort, finally gathering up the courage to continue- it went against every instinct telling her to _run, be quiet, be obedient, be nonthreatening_ , but she pressed on. “I was thinking I wanted to go back to my natural color. I- I think I like it more,” she finished weakly, her nails on the brink of drawing blood from her palms.

“I see,” her mother replied, but of course she didn’t, “well, I do believe that it would benefit you to carry on with your appearance as you have maintained it thus far. The traditional Blight image is a point of pride.” She herself stopped, probably expecting Amity to hurriedly agree, but none came. “Besides,” she continued, eyes narrowing, “we wouldn’t want people to think that you might be affected by, or worse, stooping to the level of some of your lower class peers. If that were to happen, I may have to step in myself to ensure our status remains intact.”

Amity’s eyes widened. That was a threat, and it was a threat on Luz. She was familiar with exactly how things played out from here on. Willow had gotten off easy, she knew, and her mother had no reservations about doing what was necessary to keep her interests in line- especially when one had so brazenly expressed defiance. Her throat clenched painfully, and before she knew it, she was looking her mother in the eye ( _danger, no, look down,_ her subconscious screamed in warning,) and- “Don’t touch her!” 

She panted shallowly, ears pinned low, pupils dilated. “Don’t touch her,” she repeated, voice cracking. “Luz has nothing to do with this, I’m just tired of being a piece of your sick little breeding game, I don’t want to be controlled or pushed around anymore- you can’t-”

“Amity.” And with that, she involuntarily shut her mouth with an audible click. The ease with which her mother had her subdued was ironic, she realized suddenly, and without another word--as if she were capable of speaking right now anyways--she turned and left the room. _I wasn’t dismissed,_ she thought numbly. 

* * *

“Shit. Shit, Amity, titans, what have you done, I fucked up-” She’s walking fast, hands wrapped tightly around herself, eyes blown wide and staring at the ground as she desperately attempted to not catch on a root and knock herself out. The sun had set a while ago and the sky was a deep, clear navy. Various creatures and things chirped around her while a warm breeze blew through the woods. It would be quite a pleasant night, actually, if she weren’t so busy having a violent existential crisis. _I can’t believe I did that,_ she berated herself, _I can’t believe I did that. It was literally hair dye, I can’t believe I just put everyone I even slightly care about in danger over fucking hair dye-_ but there’s more to it, too, she knew, even if she wouldn’t barely let herself acknowledge it. 

Truthfully, she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. Her singular objective was _away,_ with _not tripping_ maybe being a mild follow up. That said, she was startled, but not surprised, when an (unfortunately) familiar voice rudely interrupted her monologue. 

“Hiya, Amity! Hoot! Oh, you look different. Did you change your earrings, hoot hoot?” Amity screwed her eyes shut. Her intense hatred of the damned tube demon that was inexplicably affixed to the Owl House completely overwhelmed everything else on her mind, which honestly, was sort of a welcome break. At least, it was the lesser of two evils right now. 

“No.” Amity inhaled deeply, and glared at Hooty to ensure he kept his distance. She tried, and failed, not to think about how much she must look like her mother when she did that. “I’m here for… Can I come in, please?” 

“Sure thing! Luz, your friend is here!” Hooty screeched, filling in the “here for” bit for her, apparently. She glanced down in embarrassment, even if he wasn’t necessarily wrong. He opened the door (opened himself? She quickly decided she didn’t want to consider the implications of whatever the hell he was) and she reluctantly stepped through the entryway. 

Eda was stirring something that was probably edible in a pot over the stove, and she looked over her shoulder as Amity entered the house. She briefly considered turning on her heel right then and there just to avoid the scrutiny, the undeniable glint of hatred and oh, the disappointment that surely would be in the older witch’s eyes upon seeing such an object of disgrace presented. She tensed in preparation for round two of harsh reproach. Her heart skipped a beat as the Owl Lady took in her changed appearance, but thankfully, no comment followed and there was nothing but mild interest and--concern?--written openly across her face. “Luz is upstairs,” she called, turning back to her maybe-stew, “second door on the left.”

Amity choked on her words, cleared her throat, and eventually got out a weak “thank you, ma’am,” before turning and mechanically heading to the upper floor. The door to Luz’s room was open, but only by a few inches, obscuring her from view and vice versa. For the third time that evening, she took a second to steel herself before crossing the threshold in front of her. She knocked. “Luz?” she spoke quietly.

“Come in! I heard Hooty, sorry I didn’t come downstairs right away,” Luz chuckled to herself as Amity pushed open the door. She stood hesitantly in the entrance, watching her hurriedly gather up various pieces of paper scattered over the floor. “I was kind of in the middle of studying a couple new glyphs and-” she looked up, and yeah, Amity really shouldn’t have come, because it was taking every cell in her body to keep it together right now facing the person she would literally rather die than break down in front of. 

Amity is quite proud of how she’s able to keep a neutral face. It’s taken a lot of self control and discipline, but keeping her emotions in check is something that comes almost-- _almost_ \--naturally to her. She’d been able to hold her signature bored expression since confronting Hooty outside, despite the tumultuous whirlwind inside of her. Granted, right now, she’s very, very close to letting that crack, but she hadn’t and wouldn’t. 

“Amity,” Luz breathed, and she shattered. “Amity,” she repeated, in all of the ways her mother hadn’t and never would. It’s all gentleness and affection and love, and she couldn’t physically take it anymore. She’s on the floor, and Luz’s arms are around her, and she let down her walls all at once because she’s exhausted and she wasn’t sure, but this might be what being safe feels like, so finally, she let go, and Luz was there to catch her, because she always was for some reason. 

“I fucked up, Luz.” Amity was sure she’s barely comprensible, with her face pressed into the crook of Luz’s neck and her breath shaking as it was. Actually, she might have been crying- was she crying? Regardless, Luz must have understood her somehow, because her left arm squeezed her torso and her right came up to rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “I f- fucked up,” she sobbed haltingly. _This is seriously embarrassing. Stop stuttering, titans, you’re a Bl-_

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. We’ll fix this together, remember? You’re safe. Can’t be worse than almost setting a curse on the entire island to live out their worst fears for eternity, or whatever. Right?” Luz’s breath ghosted warm against the nape of her neck and despite the state she was in, her hair still managed to stand on end a bit. She gave a desperate, wet laugh and focused on how soft the stupid cat-ear hoodie was on her cheek.

“You don’t understand, Luz… my mother,” her breath hitched, and she took a second to steady herself. Luz let her, of course, just holding her tight. “She manipulates people. It’s what she does. She always gets what she wants, _who_ she wants, and I’m one of said people who is _very important_ for her to control but I just spat in her face over some _stupid hair dye_ and she’s not going to let this just, slide, Luz! She’s going to hurt me however she can-” Luz might have stiffened at this, or she might have imagined it, “and that means taking out people close to me, too, and she’s _so much worse_ than any nightmare or demon in so many ways you can’t even begin to imagine, and if Grom hadn’t turned into you then I’m pretty sure it-” Amity cut her rambling mid sentence and froze. Every bone in her body turned to ice; she started racking with tremors until-

“Aaaalright, look, we can unpack that last bit later, Amity, please don’t run,” Luz had stopped too, but just for a second, tightening her hold when she had begun to feel the witch in her arms begin to shake with renewed vigor. “I can’t and won’t pretend to understand all of the details of what’s going on with your family, because I’m sure it’s a lot more complicated than you can even hope to explain. It doesn’t matter, though, because you’ve got all of us here to support you, okay? You’re safe, they can’t touch you and they never will again, I promise. We’re-- _I’m_ \--” and she stressed that word meaningfully, “not going anywhere.” During this, she’d held Amity tight, continuing to massage her back tenderly. She didn’t pull away to make the witch look at her, a gesture she appreciated beyond words. Amity let out a shudder and sighed into her touch. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t deserve you,” she whispered weakly. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You deserve the world and then some, Ami.” Amity didn’t let the nickname slip her notice, but at this point, she was too exhausted to care. 

By now, they’d been locked in what was honestly a bit of an awkward embrace for a while. Luz was propped up against the shut door and Amity was curled up between her legs, head resting on her collarbone with hands folded and gripping the front of her shirt. Luz still had one arm around her waist and the other had moved up to absently play with her hair, which she had forgotten to put back up since removing the dye earlier that evening. If she wasn’t so dead tired, she’d probably be having all sorts of heart attacks right now- awkward or not, their position was incredibly comfortable and far more intimate than she thinks she’s ever experienced. Her parents were never ones for affection anyways, and the twins’ idea of showing love was annoying at best.

Amity’s eyes slowly shut, and she was close to drifting off in Luz’s lap when the fingers caressing the back of her neck slipped a little too close to the dip in between the base of her ear and her jawbone. 

Of course, it’s well known among witches how sensitive this particular spot is. 

Of course, Luz would have no idea. 

A noticeable shiver ran down the witch’s spine, and a soft rumbling involuntarily rose from deep in her chest. The human paused at the same time Amity shot up.

“Was that-”

“-Luz!” she yelped in surprise. All semblance of relaxation was momentarily overwhelmed by mortification as Amity realized what had just happened. She’s sure the flush on her face had invented about twenty new kinds of red, that is, until she realized Luz was snickering, arms still wrapped loosely around her torso.

“You _purr?_ ” 

“I have no idea what that is, and no, in fact, I do _not_ , and I haven’t since I was _six,_ alright?” Amity huffed in indignation, trying and failing not to look at the bright grin that had spread across her counterpart’s face. 

“You absolutely just did, and it was adorable.” Luz was looking at her with an unreadable look in her eyes, and suddenly-

“Can I kiss you?” Amity blurted. She’s lost count of the number of emotional U-turns she had experienced this evening, and honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to care about adding another one at this point. She was about to add a _sorry, I mean, only if you want to, I don’t really even know where that came from it’s just that your smile makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the gut but in a good way somehow,_ when Luz answered for her.

It’s a bit off center, inexperienced, and all too brief, but it’s perfect. Luz pulled back a fraction of an inch and looked like she was about to say something until Amity took the opportunity herself to interrupt. This time she leaned in to it more, tried to convey _you saved me in so many ways I couldn’t even begin to count_ and _I think I could listen to the way your weird, bile sac-less heart beats for the rest of my life_ and _you deserve the world and then some too, Luz Noceda._ Maybe she was imagining it, but the way Luz gently cups her cheek like there’s nothing else the palm of her hand was meant to do made her think that maybe, maybe she heard. And then there’s gentle puffs of air being blown across her face because Luz was both laughing softly while trying not to break the kiss, which doesn’t really work, and _damn it all_ Amity was purring again. 

“I can and will challenge you to another duel,” she murmured, but she was grinning too, because leave it to this wonderful girl in front of her to turn possibly the worst day of her life into something incredible. Point having been made, she settled back into their embrace as Luz attempted to stop giggling. 

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” she offered teasingly, thumb returning to gently massage circles behind her ear. 

“Mffph.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” And if Amity fell asleep there, with Luz holding her like she was the most worthy thing in the world of her affection, and if her chest maybe started to rumble in that low, vulnerable way, she was too far gone to care. 


End file.
